Toxophilite
by Bookdancer
Summary: definition: n. a student or lover of archery; Archery is Clint's life, has been ever since he picked up a bow in a big top tent in the middle of nowhere at age eleven. That's how it always has been, and it always will be. No amount of asking, wheedling, scorn, or bribery will ever change his mind. They should stop trying. One-Shot.


_Okay, so I saw the definition of the word 'toxophilite', and I immediately thought of Clint. Thus, this was born. :)_

_Oh, and funny thing: I'm currently listening to the song _Friends Never Say Goodbye_ from the movie _The Road to El Dorado_, and I realized that it kind of fits this fanfic. Way to slow to be a background song, but fitting all the same._

_I do not own _The Avengers_, but __I hope you enjoy!_

Toxophilite

_June 9, 2004_

"Barton?"

The voice comes from behind him, but Clint doesn't react. If whoever it is - and it sounds suspiciously like his new handler, Agent Coulson - wants to talk to him, then they can keep talking. He'll listen, although whether he'll remember what he listened to is up to Coulson and exactly how important Clint deems the subject matter to be.

The archer draws the string of his bow back, his fingers curled loosely around the arrow and string. His thumb touches his cheek, and he exhales a breath that he had been holding since he nocked the arrow. The exercise that he's completing isn't about speed, but patience and commitment.

The arrow leaves the bow, travels the distance of the range, and thwacks into place among the large cluster of arrows grouped around the bullseye.

"Barton?"

The voice comes again, and this time the blond's eyes swivel toward it.

"Coulson?"

He reaches for his quiver, removing an arrow and nocking it on the string. He breathes in as he draws the bow again, his thumb coming to rest against his cheek before he exhales again.

"Agent Coulson for now, Barton. That or 'sir'. You're still on probation. Maybe once you've showed me that you deserve to be here, you can call me Coulson."

Clint frowns, corrects his position slightly, and then releases the arrow. This one hits the target next to the one he had been using before, joining another large cluster of arrows.

"What do you want?" He questions as he reaches for another arrow.

Silence greets him, and he sighs.

"You were serious about that, huh?" He huffs, blowing air out from between his lips. "… Agent Coulson?"

"Not just about the title, Barton," Agent Coulson replies. "Your bow?"

"I like it. I'm not just going to give it up after everything we've been through."

"A gun would much more useful. Smaller, easier to hide. It won't stand out as much."

"Doesn't matter." Clint shakes his head, nocking the arrow. Draw, sight, release. There is silence, and the eighteen year-old sighs. "Agent Coulson?"

"If you can convince me of its positive uses, you can keep it. If not, you'll use a gun, no excuses."

Clint doesn't hesitate. "Deal."

* * *

><p>Director Fury watches as his best handler walks out of the range and into the observation room built specifically for testing the probationary agents. He watches as Clint walks up to each target and tugs every arrow from its bullseye. The young man places each one into his quiver before walking back to his previous position. In one smooth motion, an arrow is nocked on the bow's string.<p>

"Agent Coulson?"

"Director Fury, sir?"

"I thought I sent you in there to change his mind."

"You did, sir." Coulson pauses. "It appears that I have failed to do so."

* * *

><p><em>December 17, 2008<em>

"C'mon, Barton!"

"No."

"I bet that you would, Clint, please!"

"Most definitely not."

"Just once! You've done it for missions before!"

"This isn't a mission, Andrews. The answer is no."

"I bet a fifty that you would, Barton!" Andrews says.

"And now you've lost a fifty, haven't you?" Clint replies, a flicker of humor glinting in his eyes.

* * *

><p><em>August 25, 2010<em>

"Can you believe this guy?"

The voice behind Clint is filled with scorn and mockery, and he rolls his eyes. He knows what's coming next.

"He actually uses a _bow_! With _arrows_! And they call him the best assassin SHIELD's got?"

And there it is.

"Um, after the Black Widow, yes, sir, they do." Another voice answers the first one, and Clint mentally matches it to Billy Wills, a scrawny, timid man who did all of the research for Bryan Maxwell, the owner of the first voice. Bryan controls the corrupt end of his brother Andrew's company and turned out to be a bit smarter than SHIELD anticipated.

"Nope," Clint replies. "I was the one who brought the Black Widow in, so by rule A9, found in section 3 of volume 5 of SHIELD's rule books, I'm the best assassin."

"Oh," Wills squeaks. "M-my apologies."

"Don't apologize to that scoundrel!" Maxwell orders, but Clint is already talking.

"Apology accepted, Billy. Or would you prefer Wills? And did you know, I have a one hundred percent record for breaking out of bonds that I've been tied up in and killing the people who tied me up!" Clint grins at Wills, who is clearly terrified. "Fancy that, huh?"

"Don't listen to him, either!" Maxwell says.

"O-o-o-of course, s-s-sir," Wills replies. Clint rolls his eyes again as the smaller man somehow manages to shake hard enough that he drops the keys that he's holding.

After that, all he needs to do is slam his head into Wills's, grab the keys in his mouth, and then drop said keys into his hand behind his back. It only takes him a second to unlock the cuffs around his wrists before he grabs his bow from Maxwell's surprised hands.

Seconds later, there's an arrow in Bryan Maxwell's throat and an awful bruise on Billy Wills's head.

Clint surveys the scene once before leaving, already contacting Coulson to tell him that he needs a pickup for Wills and a body. On his way out the door, he makes sure to tread on Maxwell's face. No one touches or messes with his bow without him getting some serious retribution back. He'll just have to settle for a body and stepping on the body's face.

* * *

><p><em>March 1, 2014<em>

"So why are you so attached, anyway?" Tony questions as he, Clint, Natasha, Steve, and Bruce eat dinner.

Clint spoons a mouthful of Indian curry into his mouth before answering. "Attached to what?"

"No talking with your mouth full," Natasha says absentmindedly, her eyes skimming over her latest book.

"You're reading _The Hunger Games_, I get to talk with my mouth full," Clint replies.

"What's bad about _The Hunger Games_?" Tony asks. "And to your bow."

"He doesn't like the movie," Steve says. "He thinks Katniss isn't a proper archer-"

"Not when she shoots like that, no!" Clint mutters.

"-But I think the books are pretty good."

"And I grew up with it, Tony," Clint says. "I think I'm entitled to a bit of attachment."

"Not that much, no," Tony replies. "Tell you what, if you manage to stay away from your bow for a week - and that means touching as well, not just shooting it - then I'll give you whatever you want. Money, gummy worms, a bird house… girls? I'll do it."

"No can do."

"Great, so when do we- Wait, did you just say no?"

"Pretty sure he did, Tony," Steve says.

"And I'm done, so I'm gonna go do other stuff," Clint says, standing up from the table. He places his dirty dishes in the sink before heading to the stairs.

"Wait, where are you going?" Tony questions.

Clint grins at him. "The archery range."

_So yeah, that's it! I really do hope you enjoyed, and please review!_


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